


Running and standing still

by Nerd_division



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Have fun with my non consistent updating schedule, I'm Sorry, M/M, So much angst, Why Do I Write So Much Angst, and the fact that this fandom is twenty three years old, implied cordelia/xander
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_division/pseuds/Nerd_division
Summary: Xander harris had lived in Sunnydale for nineteen years. Saying it that way made it seem like he had a life elsewhere, some northern part of California that harbored nice comic stores and no hellmouths. But Sunnydale was home, and here he was.Slaying vamps and whatever other bizarre creature of the week had become routine. Vampires were evil, plain and simple, so what was the deal with Spike?(What's a correct timeline? I don't know of one. Pff. It's around mid season 4.)
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers, Xander Harris & Spike, Xander Harris/Spike
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	1. Home

Xander knew that the lilacs next to the front porch and the neighbors cherry tree that hung over the fence didn't make the house he lived in home. It was a shell. He was ghostsing around the halls that he ghosted in for seventeen years. He knew the difference between the houses natural settling and his parents moving. He could distinguish who was walking on the floorboards above. None of these details made it home.

Willow was home, she helped him study, she helped him laugh, and she never said anything when he showed up bruised and needing to spend the night. Half his wardrobe sits in her closet, and a mat is always near her bed, loose fitting sheets and a thin pillow to match.

Buffy was home, even with his unrequited love, she was there for him. Not just saving his life, she'd saved him from vampires and egg monsters and witches. But she also saved him from his father, from himself. Treated the wounds he showed up with.

So that's where he was, walking to Willow's at 11:03 at night, with a bruised shoulder and cut lip he won't stop bugging. It would have better if he left it alone, but he couldn't, he bit at it, licked the blood away, and rubbed it on his sleeve occasionally. Xander knew he should leave it be, it would be less noticable.

Walking down the last bend to Willows house, Xander thought about how many times he had done this. Hundreds, must be. When he was too ashamed to go to Willows, when he was hurt too bad, He'd go to Jesse's. Have Jesse rant about girls or whatever his latest interest was, it took his mind off of things. When Jesse died- when he killed Jesse- he didn't know what to do, where to go. Would Willow accept these broken pieces? He thought. Does she want to help me like this?

She did, she always did. She was always there for Xander, he wondered if he could say the same. With her in college, the weekday were harder, but he was still here.

He saw Willows light on, probably studying for the next history test, not that she hadn't before tonight. Xanders eyes caught the porch door, noticing the lock, it was undone, she knew he was coming tonight, if only Xander had known, he wouldn't have gone home in the first place.

"Hey Will, burning holes in those books yet?" Opening with a funny remark, always an icebreaker.

"Oh, what? Hi Xander. My books don't have holes, Amy dog-eared some puh-"

She cut off when she saw Xanders lip, he noticed and quickly leaped to remedy the situation.

"I bit it a lot, and bugged it, it wasn't that bad, don't worry." Not exactly the thing he wanted to say, no quips, no sarcasm. He added in a small laugh and a little sway in his shoulders to come off as okay.

Willow just looked concerned. She talked when she was nervous, talked to much, threw the filter out the window. Xander could see it in his mind, Willow taking a cross hatched metal piece off her mouth that was holding back words, and hurling it out her open window. It was almost comical.

As she stood to get some medical supplies, you could see her boiling.

Three...

She gaped at him.

Two...

She closed her mouth and turned away.

One...

"Xander I don't know why you would bother the cut on your lip so much, aren't you worried at all what kind of infections you could get from your saliva? Or the dust you breathe in? With how many girls you are chatting up, you probably have a host of germs,"

He'd have to disagree on that last bit. And boy did he try, but he couldn't string together two words Willow would listen to.

"And don't you know to knock? I may have not acted phazed, but your sudden appearances with witty remarks are scary! Buffy would have a stake in your heart before you could say perfidiousness!"

"Perf-what-now?" Xander was slowly processing her words, his brain slightly slower that his ears.

"It means a betrayal of trust. Would it be a betrayal by you for scaring her, or by her for, you know, killing you?"

Willow led him to sit on the bed while she patched up his lip with some ointment and a butterfly bandage. He smiled, then thought better of it, and gave a thumbs up.

"If you'd like we could study, get ahead on those romantic era poets I'll be quizzed for tomorrow!"

"Yeah, sure Will. Teach me about romance poets."

He could tell she was rolling her eyes, without even seeing her face. And he was happy. He was home.


	2. Lucky Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of filler  
> Giles rants  
> Oz is mentioned (Love him)  
> I did a lot of research for names and crap

Xander had Lucky Charms the next morning. When he was younger he used to imagine all the ways the charms would make him lucky, and of course like all the other children he would hoard as many marshmallow bits as he could, with little interest in the cardboardy cereal. Willow cleaned his lip again before they headed off to Giles' house. 

Glancing around the greeting room, it was Xanders time to be the Xan-man. "Look at that, full house. Giles how do you get so many people to flock here, it's practically the bronze!"

Giles awarded his comment with a glare. 

"Add some cappuccinos, Oz's band, and twice weekly vamp attacks and you'd be perfect." Willow smiled at the mention of Oz. Pained, but fond

Xander knew Oz liked her, it was plain to see. With the way he was so calm about vamps walking the streets, he was an easy addition to the group. And another genius researcher was a much needed accessory. His abrupt exit was shocking.

"Well we got the vamp attacks down, they stole a weapon last night, some flaily blade thingy." If the incomplete knowledge of weapons, and the light voice weren't any indication, the click of short heels announced Buffy's presence.

Giles perked up, noticing the phrase he could discuss. It was a habit from childhood, a trait he got from school, and a trait he harbored even after dropping out of Oxford. He'd perk up at the mention of topics, all of his friends knew it was time to face him, stop talking, and listen. They never stopped talking. A rag-tag group of failed academics, chasing a high in the form of magic. More dangerous than drugs and so much more addicting.

"Yes, a bloodborne flail. It was originally created in the 1300's, by a Niklaus Merton the fourth, Some of the iron in the blade forged from greater vampires blood, of course not much, the ways of forge could only get so much iron from the blood, and finding a powerful one was difficult, though many were created afterward with the blood of any vampire, They are said to be great weapons against the undead-"

Buffy interrupted the rant to spare everyone of whatever story was about to be told. "Giles, you write perfectly, but your rant's hold so many run on sentences, how much air fills your lungs?" The rhetorical question about to be answered.

"Well,-"

"It was rhetorical, Giles."

Giles responded with his usual small 'oh.' Muttering, he moved through the stacks of books until he was so far in a hallway they couldn't hear him anymore.

Willow showed Buffy illustrations of the weapon, and pages upon pages of information on the vamps that were used to make the original. Xander thought he heard something about the first being destroyed and the maker being killed, yada yada. He zoned out, thought about all the work he should be doing. and going home tonight. He started making a list of tools he would need for his current construction project, the incessant nagging of work would pull his mind away from other things. Besides, getting ahead of the other workers could lead to a promotion.

The day was slow, research, thinking, banter, thinking. He was glad the day was slow. No being kidnapped or terrorized, or running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this is kind of a filler chapter, but hey, we need plot, pure fluff won't last very long.


	3. Bronze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst because hey, why not.  
> Xander's dad's a piece of shit, so child abuse  
> And some fluff!

Xander was making the trip to Willows, he did this two days ago. he must be such a goddamn burden. They didn't want to hear his constant jokes, he couldn't research, he couldn't fight. He just opened his mouth and never stopped talking. 

He showed up, unannounced, waking Willow, distracting her from studies, with nothing to offer. 

So he turned left. Willow was the right. The road on the right, the final right turn, the right path.

So Xander turned left.

He turns up at the Bronze, 2:03 in the morning, with a bloody fist and a cut on his stomach. His eyes itch and his stomach hurts when he huffs. So he doesn't cry, because that wold hurt and he doesn't want sympathy.

And after two glasses of seltzer and lemon water, and a glass of tap to dab his knuckles with, he realizes he should have turned right. Spike walks in. The vampire menace himself. damn he should have turned right.

Just because Spike couldn't physically hurt him, psychologically, he's sure Spike could open his smart mouth and spit out some insults.

He saunters through the room, combat boots and suave looks. His black leather duster breezing behind him. To Xander's chagrin, spike flops into the seat next to him.

"Look mate I'm gonna be blunt here."

Xander just gawks at him.

"I'm very drunk right now, you look like a sodding kicked dog," He smiles at his insult.

Xander decides that he needs to say something, keep up appearances so while spike drones on he cuts in. "Ouch, big bad here with the biting words. devastating insults." sarcasm making it's usual mark.

He only glares in response, and continues talking, "And I can smell the blood coming off you."

Xander's smile fades, this was a person he couldn't hide his wounds from, no long sleeve shirt to hide bruises on his arms or a little of his mothers concealer for his face. 

The next joke was bitter, bitter in it's sound and bitter on his tongue, it didn't even sound obnoxious or joking, just there.

"You must have drunk your way through every bar and liquor store in Sunnydale."

"What??"

"You're drunk."

"I know."

Spike laughed bitterly, Xander looked beyond it. beyond the hate and malice and flame. It was sad. All that was left was sadness. It reminded him of his dog, barking and waging his tail, even after being hit by his father, just wanting approval.

The vampire didn't want approval, he just wanted sleep, sleep for years, until the name Sunnydale was a distant whisper among the tongues of bored historians.

They sat there, alone together, in silence until Xander winced, the cut on his stomach bleeding through his shirt. 

"Dear god I feel like part of your hippie cult for doing this." Spike sighed, standing from the weathered bar stool, the cracks on the faux-leather sprouting yellow foam.

The bruised man was suddenly very aware Spike was reaching for him. "Doing what? What?"

Spike pressed a napkin to Xanader's gash. Slowly- and drunkenly- Spike pulled him off the stool and towards the exit.

"I'll drive you home, patch you up, maybe beat some sense into your sorry arse, and raid your liquor cabinet."

"No." Xander stopped in his tracks, he felt spike stop too, turning to look at Xander's pale face, drained of color from his cut, and the prospect of going home.

"I can't go home." His gaze shot up to Spike, and he saw questions, none of which he wanted to answer.

"Anyway, you're so drunk driving with you would be a death wish, almost as bad as being best friends with the chosen one! I drive."

\------------

Spike opened the door to a surprising upkept apartment. It was, normal. Xander was sure there was blood packets stuffed in the fridge, and weapons in different drawers and closet. But there were houseplants in the window, and books on a shelf and stacked on the coffee table.

Xander hadn't noticed that he'd sat on the couch till Spike walked in with a first aid kit.

"Budge up, and lose the shirt." Spike stomped over, leaning a little to one side.

"I'm sorry, what??" The statement was a little more then concerning.

"If you want to bleed out on my couch be my guest, so long as you're quiet because I am knackered and would love to get some sleep."

Xander pulled off his shirt, stretching muscles he wished he didn't have to, the wound burning. It was awkward, having someone who formerly tried to kill you tend to your wounds.

He sucked air in when the alcohol met his torn flesh.

"Don't be a bloody wimp, you're the slayers right hand man for gods sakes," He was delicate, even in his intoxicated state. "I sure hope your bloodied knuckles socked the jaw of whoever cut you here."

Xander laughed, but it was just a puff of air coming from his nose. "I wish, I hit the doorframe protecting Roger, then used my hand as shield." Realizing his answer would beg more questions he wasn't prepared to reply to, he closed his mouth.

"Who's Roger?" Spike started to wrap Xander's stomach in a bandage.

"My dog," Spike looked expectantly, wanting to hear more. "My dad hits him, when he's drunk."

The vampire could decipher the rest.

And he did.

While Xander was contemplating whether tonight was some weird unconscious dream, he was drawn into a hug. After a moment of questioning if Spike's head resting on his shoulder was going to bite him (and deciding it wasn't) he hugged back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you guys think? Do you like it?


	4. The Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -william the bloody  
> -more angst  
> -have fun

"William Pratt" Spike said, while packing away the first aid kit.

Xander realized Spike had spoken but he was in invested inspecting the bandage Spike applied to really pay attention. 

"What?" He asked, before running through his memory to understand what he said. The bandage was pretty well done. He breathed deeply, it was constricting, but that was to be expected. It was better than anything Willow would do, certainly better than he could.

"That was my name- is my name. When I lived in England." He seemed to avoid the subject of his undeadness, not wanting to freak the man out, Xander didn't take the hint.

"So, William the Bloody, that came soon after you were turned?"

The words made Xander suddenly very aware he was in the same room as a mass murderer. Spike only gave a small chuckle, scratching at the scar on his eyebrow. A strange topic to be discussing with someone alive who's not currently trying to shove a stake through your heart.

"No that, uh, that was earlier," Xander almost asked, but Spike continued. "I studied at cambridge, I was a poet."

spikes usual cutting slang evaporated, he sounded human. Not just the non-fanged type of human, but kind, and joyous, and tired, and sad. So Xander stayed quiet, he watched and he listened as a century and a half of violence and mistrust faltered.

"My chums back at Cambridge coined 'William the Bloody', for my bloody awful poetry, no excuse for literature." He seemed to crack, smug smile fading only for a second. Remembering, his words, the ambition he had, always writing, always nose in a book. Educations never changed, still just a stunt on creative behavior and a way to churn out pulp. People, sans all the ambition and joy.

Spike turned and left, taking the kit to the bathroom, replacing it to its home under the sink. Xander watched him, walking down the hall and to the room at the end. His view of the man had completely changed. No, that, can't be. He can't think that way, if this had been a few months ago he would have planted a stake in Spikes heart himself.

Spike had harmed people, killed people. You can't just reverse that. He was still a killer. Xander knew what was happening.

Spike pretended to be drunk to lower Xander's shields, gets him here to an apartment that probably isn't even his, does the life story because villains are weird that way, and kills him. In that order. Oh god the order is coming to an end. Xander's going to be killed, or turned and killed by one of his best friends, or held hostage until Buffy can save him and by then dear god....

"I'll be dead." Xander ended his thoughts out loud. His heart was racing and Spike could hear it, hell he thought a regular human would be able to hear it.

"What was that?" Spike asked, sauntering into the room.

"Nothing, it's nothing. I gotta- skip out." Xander laughed little and made for the door. Shaky hands rested on the doorknob as he opened it.

"Mate," Xander froze, he didn't look back, he waited. "don't go home."

Xander breath was uneven, but it released a little, after hearing that. He opened the door, creaking the whole time, he stepped over the marker of hardwood to hallway carpet, and closed the door.

Rain poured outside and Xander walked through the streets. He was completely soaked, he had to go home. He couldn't go to Willow, he'd be so ashamed, blabbering he'd reveal something, everything would fall apart, no one could know he let a vampire take him to some strange apartment. God it sounded worse when he said it like that.

Spike watched the rain, he had watched Xander for as long as he could, before the rain blurred the scene too much and his sunken figure disappeared into the dark. He felt so sorry for the bloke. And he couldn't help him, not like this.

But he wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter. I didn't want to ruin anything with my ramblings so it's short, and not sweet, but hey, projecting onto fictional characters is completely healthy, so I'll have another chapter soon.


End file.
